


Purple Skies and a Greenish Blue Moon

by Diary



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Fail, Conversations, Gen, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost. Charles Brandon visits baby Elizabeth, and before his death, Elizabeth returns the favour. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Skies and a Greenish Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Tudors.

“You had no permission to see my daughter,” Queen Anne Boleyn declares.

Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, takes a breath. “Your Highness, I have never needed permission to see any of the King’s children. I visited all of his living children with the Dowager Princess, including Lady Mary, and I visited Henry Fitzroy. Whatever your personal feelings towards me, you have no right, Madam, to deny me access to his majesty’s child.”

“Your personal feelings towards me give me every right.”

Shaking his head, he puts his clenched hands behind his back. “I would die before I’d do anything to hurt any of Henry’s children, and-”

“Some say you still sympathise with Lady Mary,” she retorts. “Perhaps, you visiting my daughter is a plot to help her overthrow me. After all, she’s in great pain from what’s been done to her, and you’d never harm one of his children.”

“She’s always in her room whenever I come,” he responds. “I’ve always made it clear, your highness, that I wish for the Dowager Princess and Lady Mary to accept Henry’s judgement and, as a result, be made more comfortable. I know the King wishes to be reconciled with his firstborn daughter and to be able to show a greater mercy to his brother’s widow than he’s currently able to due to her stubbornness. Princess Elizabeth is my lord and close friend’s daughter, and that is the only reason I go to see her. Not to harm you, and certainly not to harm her.”

“I won’t allow it,” she informs him. “I’ll have my husband, the King, put a stop to it.”

“As you will, Madam,” he says. “I’m sure my death will help your marriage to him, at least temporarily.”

She pauses and studies him with her dark eyes.

“When I married the King’s sister, I asked him to cut off my head if he couldn’t forgive me,” he reminds her. “If he can’t trust me to see his infant daughter, then, I have no desire to live and will tell him so. And I’ll say to his face that, if the only reason he denies me, his brother-in-law, access is that his wife dislikes me, I still wish death, for it’s proof you’ve stolen all his love for me away.”

…

Anne stands quietly and peers through the curtain.

Lady Bryan curtseys to Charles Brandon and picks up Elizabeth. “Your Grace.”

Nodding, he smiles when Elizabeth reaches out for him.

“The Princess seems to already recognise you,” she comments.

“Of course, she does.” He carefully kisses Elizabeth hand. “Leave us, please, Lady Bryan.”

Once the door’s closed, he sits down on the floor and patiently allows Elizabeth to run her hands through his hair. “Your father’s wife is pregnant, again, your highness.”

Elizabeth crawls out of his arms and, holding onto his leg, pulls herself into a standing position.

He holds his palms out. As she wraps her tiny hands around a finger on each hand, he continues, “I’ve always been honest with, my lady. I’ve never liked your mother, but for all our sakes, including yours, I pray she gives Harry his boy. You and your sister should not be divided, or her separated from your father and her mother. A boy will make everything better.”

Elizabeth lets go of his fingers and tries to walk but falls. Before either Anne or he can move, Elizabeth is already crawling over to her toy chest and prying it open. She withdraws a soft ball of cloth, crawls back over, makes a jerky motion with her arm, and the ball lands on his lap.

Chuckling softly, he picks it up, places it in her hand, and adjusts her arm. “Now, try it, sweetheart.”

Doing so, she laughs when he catches it.

“Of course, I don’t quite understand it.” He rolls the ball back to her. “If I didn’t have my sons, I’d be disappointed; most men want do want boys. But my daughter, Frances, she’ll do more than most men will ever do. Only sixteen, and so clever and fearless; a stubborn child to deal with, but I've had more interesting conversations with her than I have with members of Parliament. She’s to marry, soon. To a Marquess. Everyone, including my wife, says she can do better. But his name’s Henry, like your father, and she insists her soul’s bound to his. I just pray she’s right, and I’m not letting my own silly thoughts harm her future.”

Elizabeth drops the ball and crawls into his lap.

Smiling, he kisses her head. “Thank you for listening, your highness. I need to go soon, but God willing, I shall return next week.”

…

_Your Grace,_

_You have taken me from my daughter, and her from me. As it hurts me now, it will hurt her in the future. However, I forgive you all you’ve done against me. I ask you, as the mother of your master and closest friend’s child, never do further harm to her, and never let Henry convince you of what he will try to convince himself. I was never unfaithful to him, and Elizabeth is his daughter, just as Mary is, and just as Henry Fitzroy was his son. She has my eyes, but her Tudor hair and spirit of a Prince make the origin of her seed undeniable. Like your daughter, she is beyond clever and fearless, and she will be a difficult child for those tasked with raising her. Yet, I swear she will do more than I, more than you, and perhaps, more than Henry, too, has done._

_Queen Anne Boleyn of England, wife of King Henry the Eighth_  

…

“No, don’t rise,” Princess Elizabeth orders. She walks over to the bed. “Your trip to see my father has done nothing to help you in your already severely weakened state.”

“My lady,” Charles Brandon replies. He kisses her hand.

Kneeling down, she removes a locket from around her neck and opens it. “A week after my mother died, this was delivered to Lady Bryan.”

Nodding, he shivers as he looks at miniature’s capturing of Anne Boleyn’s piercing eyes. “She gave it the King, once.”

“I want you to know, your grace, I’ve long since struggled with what was done to her,” she tells him. “But I’ve made peace, now. My father could convince a person the sky was purple and the moon a greenish-blue if he decided it so. He could also be convinced of the same thing if the right person said it.” Closing the locket and putting it back around her neck, she withdraws another locket from her pockets.

“This was given to my mother, once.” She shows him the miniature of her younger father. “I have both my father and access to numerous portraits of him.” Reaching over, she slips it around his neck. “In gratitude for all you’ve quietly done for me, I’ll make sure it is buried with you. You and my mother did not get along, but I don’t believe she would begrudge you this.”

Kissing the locket, he hoarsely answers, “Thank you, Princess, and God keep you.”

Inclining her head, she brings her hand up to his lips. Once he kisses it, she stands. “Goodbye, sir. May you soon find peace and comfort from all your Earthly ailments and all the unseen scars upon your heart.”


End file.
